


Buried in the Quarry

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Discipline, Dom Betty Cooper, Dom!Betty, Dom/sub, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Riverdale Kink Week, Smut, Sub Sweet Pea, Swetty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: An offshoot/divergence of my fic"The poison in your bones"where Betty needs to fill a void with a little more experimentation with the only Serpent who loved her dance."Have you been a good boy?"she asks.He sends her a selfie, chin tilted up to showcase and stretch the cuts on his cheek, his lips. The snake on his neck curls up to taste the blood."Feeling a little restless. You down for some play time?"She bites down on her smile, pink perfection stained with the bitter richness of chocolate, and considers the possibilities.“Your right hand could probably use a break.”"Hell yes it can. Meet me at the quarry? 7pm?"





	Buried in the Quarry

**Author's Note:**

> *siren blare* For those of you who don't read tags, this is a Swetty fic. What a couple name. A lot of you were clamoring for more scenes or a Swetty ending to ["The poison in your bones" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001028) but we went Bughead there (as I am always inclined to do) so noooow here is some porn for you. Hope you enjoy! And if it's not for you, I hope you have a great day and enjoy other works this week. My bughead heart is still in full swing but I'm here to follow up on promises and participate in kink week. Woo!
> 
> The [previous fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001028) is not required reading, but it does have some very flirtatious and salacious scenes of them if you're interested.

Betty gnaws on her straw, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. It’s the same spot she used to be happy. Her _safe space_. With Archie. Jughead. Veronica. Even Kevin. The thought makes her scoff now, taking a large gulp of something _different_. Something chocolate. It’s a little rich for her taste, but she’s sick of everyone always assuming they know what she wants. What’s best for Betty Cooper. As the bitterness coats her tongue, she hears rather than sees the motorcycle parade go by. Her thighs instinctively clench together, still angry, still _needing_ something. Power.

It’s been a few weeks since her infamous dance at the White Wyrm, the useless _humiliating_ break up, and even her rebound career as a cam model. The only time she’d really had _fun_ lately was when she was degrading a certain Serpent in the trailer park. _Jughead-light_ , she’d referred to him in her head. But he’s something all his own, as is whatever they have.

_Like I have something_ , she scoffs to herself. But, pursing her lips, the memory makes her feel a little less hollow, and she pulls out her phone to text him.

“ _Have you been a good boy?_ ”

It’s a few minutes before he can reply, probably still riding. He sends her a selfie, chin tilted up to showcase and stretch the cuts on his cheek, his lips. The snake on his neck curls up to taste the blood. He certainly _looks_ good. “ _Feeling a little restless. You down for some play time?_ ”

She bites down on her smile, pink perfection coated with the bitter richness of chocolate, and considers the possibilities. “ _Your right hand could probably use a break._ ”

_“Hell yes it could. Meet me by the quarry tonight? 7pm?”_

Her teeth press harder into her lip, visualizing the way the light will hit the defunct swimming hole on the south side. Where she could have him kneel? What kind of shoes…?

“ _There’s a shack there. A little privacy for m’lady ;)”_

A snort-giggle ripples through her without warning. It’s a laugh. _Huh_ , she thinks. Sweet Pea’s kinda funny. In another life, she might’ve found him charming. He might’ve thought she was sweet. His scowl masks a sense of self-preservation, much like someone else she knows. _Knew_ , she corrects, furrowing her brow. Her mind diverts to much more agreeable topics, like Sweet Pea’s muscles contained by bonds, the snake on his neck straining with need, begging for release. And only she can give it to him.

 

 

Although she’s longing to wrap her legs around another motorcycle, another boy with dark jeans and darker hair, Betty shoves aside those thoughts and chirps to her mother that she’s borrowing the car to visit Kevin. Alice is so distracted fussing over dinner that she barely even notices. Thankfully Chic is at the Bijou for a shift so she doesn’t have to hear yet another cryptic warning about power and control.

As expected, Sweet Pea is early. He bounces on the balls of his feet with barely-contained eagerness as she pulls up, but doesn’t come any closer. It’s like he’s giving her space until he gets the okay, the command. He’s learning. “Already being such a good boy,” she tsks, smirking, letting her bare legs entice his hunger while her words ignite his grin.

“You ever been to the shack?”

_Does it look like I have?_ she wants to ask, but it occurs to her that he probably considers it a possibility. She did date a south side _weirdo_ after all. The reminder incites anxiety that wriggles like anemones of the sea right inside of her chest, trying to catch a memory. _No._

Air feels dry, painless like dirt when she swallows it. “Show me.”

A knot bobs against in Sweet Pea’s throat, his eyes shadowing her husky tone. Swinging his head to the side, a little nervous but trying to hide it, Sweet Pea extends his hand to her. It’s rather…sweet. Romantic. Which confuses her, because that isn’t what this is. At least…it’s not supposed to be.

Still, it seems rude to slap him around and not trust him enough to take his hand, so she dutifully smacks into his palm. It’s rougher than the one she’s used to holding, fingers not quite as long and willowy. But firm. Definitely firm, she decides, as the sting of impact starts to fade. The grass is high and wild at the quarry, land uneven, and she’s kind of glad she can use him to keep her balance as they traverse towards a shack. Maybe this is just the first task of the night when it comes to serving each other.

Sweet Pea shuffles a rag out of his back pocket and ties it around the flimsy handle of the shack. It doesn’t exactly look secure. “What?” he asks, voice edged with accusation.

Her teeth pry into the top of her tongue, precariously balancing what it is she wants to say while the scent of grass and mud hovers around them. “Does this place have a lock?”

“Yeah. An old one. But no one will come in if they see this,” he gestures, as if the muted, worn red rag is a flag.

“What if they hear you screaming?” she asks not-so-innocently from under long eyelashes.

His expression opens, all teeth and glory. “Maybe you should gag me then.”

The response takes her breath away. She can feel her heart slam against her chest once, loudly, before she smothers it back where it’s supposed to be. _Damn. He’s getting really good at this._ Chin up, she strides ahead of him into the poorly lit shack, thankful that at least it has thick musty curtains in case anyone comes by. It does seem out of the way. Perfect for what she needs. What _they_ need, she corrects mindfully.

The rustle of leather behind her sounds like someone shuffling out of their skin. She turns away from the small bed, the few rickety wooden chairs and miscellaneous storage to the dark boy with his head down. “Did you clean up in here?”

“Yeah. Thought you might want to prefer it to the dump,” he comments wryly, dark eyes hovering below her waist. _He’s started_ , she realizes from the lack of eye contact. The way his chin tilts down in submission.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says carefully, unbuttoning her own jacket and moving forward, her boots clicking against the hollow patches of floor. “In fact, I might say that you’ve been _very_ _good_.” Her coat slithers to the floor, any hangups with it. To her amusement, Sweet Pea immediately kneels before her. “Almost too good. I’m a little suspicious,” she smiles, hand raking through his thick wavy hair.

“Anything to please my queen,” he gleans, _almost_ sarcastic, but still not daring to look up at her.

Her laugh feels like a cough in her gut. Feeling a little rough, she tugs his hair to expose the snake tattoo on his neck. The nervous swell of saliva moving down his throat makes the animal look like it’s swallowing something whole. It’s fascinating. She kind of wants to taste it. “And how do you want to please me?”

It takes Sweet Pea a moment before he feels confident enough to lean forward and suck on her thigh. Instinctively, she shoves him back, yanking his hair hard enough to elicit a groan. His eyes flash, wild and dark, but he doesn’t move.

“I thought good boys understand the rules,” she warns, leaning her face a little closer to examine his flushed skin. “You only touch me when I say so.” He nods, barely able to move with his hair tightly fisted in her hand. A low rumbling works its way through her chest. “Good.” Releasing his hair, she smooths his face with her fingers, sculpting what she wants to make. The little hiss of satisfied pain cuts through the air when she retraces his injuries, the marks from the last time they played. “Did you like these, sweetie? Do you want me to open you up and show the world what a good boy you are?”

His nod seems strained. His lips are parted, panting, but unspeaking. “Answer me,” she demands.

“Yes, mistress.”

_Mistress._ Her mouth curls up at that. It’s not necessarily better than _Queen_ , but it is more respectful than _Blondie, Princess, or B_. As her fingers trace his velvety lower lip, he sucks the air in the hopes he’ll taste her. Amused, she turns her fingers in a come-hither motion.

“Suck.”

His mouth eagerly envelops her in warm wetness, tongue laving against her knuckles. The _moan_ that comes out of him is positively sinful, rattling her to the core.

“Slow,” she nearly pants, grounding her other hand into his hair. He obeys, caught up in the firm pressure of keeping her inside of him, tongue swirling in a way that makes her want it somewhere else. “Good,” she whispers, gently pulling away, almost biting her lip at the way his eyes darken, a strand of spit breaking off between them.

A rush of adrenaline possesses her. “I want you to reach up under my skirt and take off my panties, nice and slow.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” he murmurs, face pressed against her stomach. It’s borderline rebellious, his breath hot against her front as his fingers slip up across her thighs. It’s like fire tickling up her thighs, her hip. His thumbs trace her hip bones like he’s memorizing her for later. Betty jerks a little at his touch, letting the lace slide slowly, ever-so-slowly over her hips, releasing the musky scent of her wetness. Sweet Pea groans and kisses her stomach then, ever-so-lightly, and although she wants to punish him, she wants to enjoy _this_ part more. The build-up. Finally the lace makes it to the floor, and Sweet Pea dutifully bends over to help her feet out of the garment.

“You like that?” she chides lightly, watching his nose dip into the lace at her feet, breathing deep.

“ _Fuck_ yeah.”

Feeling a smile that’s all teeth, Betty retreats with her back against the wall, Sweet Pea struggling not to crawl on his hands and knees after her.

“I want you on the bed. Stripped, except for your boxers,” she adds at the last second, not wanting to humiliate him _too_ badly. To her surprise, Sweet Pea hauls his clothes off as if the room’s been theirs forever instead of just a few minutes. Maybe she could order him to get naked. It’s not like she hasn’t seen his dick before. His skin practically radiates bronze in the halogen lights from the overhead lamp, the only thing keeping their dark little room visible at all.

_He’s not afraid of the darkness_ , she realizes, _he shifts into it._

Heavy hollows cover his hard brown eyes, his brow furrowed in what she can only assume is self-control, based on the way his thin cotton boxers strain. “How do you want me?” he asks, voice thick and raspy.

The room suddenly feels sticky and humid. Betty touches her neck expecting to find it sweaty or chained. But no. It’s still her. Just skin.

_Skin._

Her eyes flicker to the Serpent jacket, its face away from her, but the leather reminding her of the night she’d first thrown herself into the snake pit.

“How are you at sharing, sweetie?” she asks, still not turning to him. In her peripheral, he shrugs, the mounds of his muscle moving languidly in the yellow light. It takes three confident steps to cross the shack and stand in front of the chair with the gang symbol laying on it. Sweet Pea doesn’t say anything, and her heart starts hammering louder as she peels off her thin silky shirt to toss it on a table nearby. Part of her is tempted to remove her black bra. To be bare in front of it all. But she needs _something_. Something to ground her before she loses herself in this.

Her nails grip hard at the firm blackness of the leather, winding it around her shoulders and slipping inside of it like it’s the one she earned the night she stripped herself of her pride in front of his whole world. _The jacket_.

Betty lets the cracked, cool material settle on her skin before sweeping her hair out from under it, aware of the way her strands must be tickling the snake on the back. Blood pounds in her ears, eliciting a tremor throughout almost her whole body. She feels like she could kill someone. Like she could wreck the world. Like she could fuck Sweet Pea and anyone else who came along as long as she had her boots and leather.

“I have never wanted anyone so badly in my entire life.”

Almost startled, Betty turns to a wide-eyed Sweet Pea kneeling forward on the bed. His gaze is dark and swirling, like he has two voids of midnight burning inside of him and neither can escape.

“Fucking… _yeah._ Betty. I need to touch you or I’m gonna go crazy. Fuck me. I don’t even care, just... _Fuck. Me._ ”

The wholehearted relinquishment of himself astounds her, this power overwhelming and washing over her. Three harsh steps to cross to him, one satisfying slap to give him the to match his other cheek, the suddenness a preamble, and she’s on him, a kiss comforting the sting instead of her palm. Knees on the bed, straddling his cock, mouths hungry and demanding. She doesn’t even care when she tastes the sting of iron on his lips from his reopened memory. Grinding against his hardness, she _takes, takes takes_ and knows that there’s so much left. Pulling back to another satisfying wet sound, she swings her legs off of him and positions herself with her thighs open, facing the edge of the old, springy bed.

“Take off your clothes and worship me.”

Flushed, enraptured, he wriggles off his boxers and moves forward. Her heel connects with his shoulder, pushing him back. “Not like that, sweetie.” The tongue she’d tasted him with only moments ago reaches up to swipe her upper lip. His gaze follows the movement in dark understanding.

“ _Fuuuck_ me, Queen.” Sweet Pea bites and sucks her ankle, eliciting a gasp before he kisses up her leg. Her hips wriggle against the bed, his lips finding new ways to shoot adrenaline through her body. The sudden force of his mouth sucking on her clit has her gasping for air, wanting to scream and fuck his face for all it’s worth. Fingers cleaving up her backside, pushing back her black skirt, Sweet Pea _ravages_ her like he’s loving every face-smearing second of it.

“Fuck,” she whines, desperately trying to hold onto control.

But she is in control, she tries to reassure herself. Anything she says, he’ll do, even with her legs spread in this ultimately vulnerable position.

Lazy spirals followed by quick laps on her nerves send her quivering thighs tighter around his face. It could be hours or seconds because all she feels is wet fire lapping at her core. 

“Mm, Betty,” he breathes, the hot mist of it jolting even more sensation against her. It feels like she’s become a giant black spiral of knots and nerves and _feeling._ The tension builds, his chin pressing against her like he can feel it, pushing it forward. “ _Betty_ ,” he moans languidly against her slick folds, and the feeling of power erupts and washes over her. Her eyes shut tight at the white-hot surge of _yes_ coursing through her limbs, almost painfully contracting her muscles even as the fire continues lapping at her. Sweet Pea’s shoulders shudder against the pressure of her thighs, keeping them apart so he could feel the trembling agains his lips, sucking her into oblivion.

Just as the shockwaves of intensity start to fade, he takes a deep breath, hair damp against his forehead and eyes wild as he asks, “Can I penetrate you, Queen? With my fingers?”

Barely able to speak, she nods. Then she realizes that wasn’t good enough for _her_ before, so she says weakly, thighs still twitching, “Yes, sweetie. Until I say enough.”

His fingers pry into her tight passage and it feels _comforting_ somehow, having something there when it’s so tightly wound. Before she can adjust to it, his mouth is on her clit again, long languid strokes transforming into quick little licks. The combination of movements has her squirming worse than before.

“ _Fuck_ , no,” she whines, knees retracting to her chest. It’s too sensitive. It’s too much. But she doesn’t say _enough_ , can’t even find the word in the recesses of her brain before the steady tap of his fingers against the spongy ridged flesh inside of her taps out _yeees_ inside of her like morse code for the needy.

“You’re so good,” she manages, eyes closed, tears leaking down her cheeks from the relief of it all. Her nails tears into his hair, raining down praise on his scalp and down to his shoulders. “Fuck, sweetie, you’re so good.”

“I fucking love you,” he breathes, sending that hot breath against her. “Swear with that dirty fucking mouth of yours, I want to hear every fucking word.”

“Mouth!” she demands, not even registering the words that came out of it, shoving him gleefully back into his task at hand. This time the orgasm shoots through her bones like the impact of a car crash. Sweet Pea moans wildly, pressing down hard until he has to pull back so as not to become collateral orgasm damage, even if he’d love to explain how he got kneed or kicked in the face going down on Riverdale’s sweetheart. She holds onto his wrist until she’s come down, then quickly pushes it away. Any more stimulation and she might actually catch on fire. Sweat and sex permeate the air around them, and Sweet Pea looks like he’s just run a marathon he’s breathing so hard. 

“Ohh,” she chuckles lightly, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “Let me wipe you off, sweetie.”

He leans forward, still panting, fingers trembling. The bones of his jaw feel nice and firm as she wipes him off, covering that sweet mouth of his. Betty’s core is still dripping, still singing from the heat of blood, but she ignores it in favor of calming down enough to reward him for being such a good lover. _Good boy_ , she corrects herself, but ignores it, realizing that the semantics were stupid. “I really liked that,” she says softly, still catching her breath.

“I really liked it too,” he murmurs as well as he can with a t-shirt swiping his lower lip. With only a slightly pang of disappointment, she notes that he’s not quite as hard as when they started. In fact, he’s deflating a little bit. Guess he was using the blood for other things other than standing at attention. Sweet Pea clears his throat, gaining her attention. “I mean, I like breathing. But…” Embarrassed, he looks down at the damp spot below them on the sheets.

The mere possibility floats around in Betty’s head, untethered. “Did you…?”

“I told you, you’re really fucking hot. And the pressure from the mattress…well…it’s a springy old thing but it worked.” One shoulder lifts in a shrug as he puffs up his chest, like it’s something to be proud of. And maybe it is.

Her eyes alight on him with mischief and a bit more respect than they started with. “I can’t decide if you were being _too_ good for loving your mistress or if coming without telling me is very _very_ bad.”

His hard hand rests on her upper thigh, face scrunched up in thought. “I mean, I _did_ tell you.”

“Just now?” she giggles, feeling her aggression recede until she’s pretty much just a tougher version of herself.

“Yeah,” he grins, a lazy, curling thing that makes something hot flash in her chest. She purposely doesn’t let him cuddle now that the scene is over, content to lean back and catch her breath, taking swigs from the shared water bottle he’d been smart enough to stash away for the occasion.

“I had a feeling we’d need to rehydrate,” he winks. Betty rolls her eyes. “I mean…did you know? When you came here? What we were going to do?”

Swallowing, she’s not sure what to say. She never knows what she’s going to do. After the Black Hood, everything she thought she knew about what she _could_ do was shattered, and Chic seems to think there’s nothing forbidden. After putting on this Serpent jacket, she felt that way too.

“I knew you needed someone to tell you how you were a good boy. Keeping my secret,” Betty decides, palm fondly stroking the mark on his cheek. Sweet Pea smiles knowingly at her non-answer.

“I’ll stay your secret as long as this stays mine,” he mutters, gesturing to the wet mattress.

“You should really wash that.” The words bubble out before she can stop them, the old pre-Hood Betty shining through.

Sweet Pea’s laugh tumbles like a waterfall. “Hey, it’s cool if you want to keep this under wraps. I’m not some lovesick fucking weirdo.” The imagery brings a sharp pain to her chest. Sweet Pea looks to the side as he scruffs the back of his neck, casually jerking on his clothes. “But, um…it’s also…okay if you don’t. Like, I never thought it’d be hot to see someone wearing my jacket but…you proved me wrong.”

Betty can’t help the smirk crawling up her cheeks. It’s weirdly fulfilling to be _liked_ by the person she’s fucking away her feelings on.

Unmistakable color tinges his cheeks before he can properly reign it in the direction of anger. “Okay, don’t get all smug about it, ya fuckin’ north sider. I’m just saying. It’s a good look,” he scowls, irritably gathering her clothes and handing them over. His thumb hovers hesitantly on the damp spot of her underwear.

“You didn’t want to try for a round 2?” she teases, not _quite_ recovered but needing to goad him, as if she’s totally unaffected and her legs are not jellied muscles unable to obey her commands.

“I thought you had a nine o’clock curfew?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, yeah,” she frowns, not sure how he… _oh,_ she realizes. Jughead. Before…

Clearing his throat, Sweet Pea gestures to the quarry. “I thought maybe we could freshen up a little after. Like, take a dip. Dry off. So your mom doesn’t smell sex all over you.”

The thought is so absurd that Betty snorts into laughter again, letting it release like flashes off a sparkler.

“What?” he asks, shifting on the edge of annoyed and amused.

She spreads her palms on the bedspread, carefully standing to avoid smearing herself on her thighs. “It’s just…I don’t think of this as…”

_Sex? A date? Fun? ...even though it might be._

“Swimming-appropriate,” she decides, mouth firmly set in politeness to warn him against the suggestion of skinny dipping.

“We can go in our underwear, Cooper. It’s not like I haven’t seen _that_ before.”

“But what if someone else comes along?” she asks, bunching her hair and stepping into her panties.

“You think anyone from around here didn’t see that at the Wyrm?”

Her mouth opens in momentary outrage. Just as she’s getting ready to swing or storm out, he sinks and sighs against the door, looking at a loss for words. “Just because your ex is an asshole Serpent doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with us. Me. Don’t let some wuss make you think you’re not tough enough to handle it just because they aren’t." His fist drags along the door, along his hairline. "Fuckin’…if you wanna wear my jacket, so be it. As far as I'm concerned, you did the dance and you're a fuckin' badass. You earned it.” Something happens under the surface of her brokenness, something that makes her fingers curl into the jacket and her brow knit into confusion because _this wasn’t supposed to happen_.

“I…thank you.” She swings off his jacket and returns it to him promptly, trying to ignore the surprise in his eyes when it falls back into his hands. The glittering yellow eyes barely have time to flash at her before she’s dressed and as put-together as she can be. The cool night air makes her feel like she’s outside of herself, like this tingling warmth should be smothered out. Sweet Pea hovers just at her hip without saying anything, jacket still in hand instead of on his back.

“So…you wanna go to the quarry?”

Biting her lip, she looks out, aware of the way the sky darkens around them. There shouldn’t be any more serial killers in the woods. There shouldn’t have to be fear. Not on the south side, at least. Sweet Pea doesn’t seem to think so. Doesn’t tell her to get north-side ass home and behind bars to milkshakes and Mondays. _Go home_ , someone else would tell her. Leaving her alone, in the dark. This place does seem like _something_ amidst the void of the south side. And maybe something’s buried here, down in the quarry for lost folks to find. “Sure,” she nods worriedly, glancing over her shoulder. “But I’m not getting naked.”

Smirking, Sweet Pea offers her his hand, and they both make their way down the uneven terrain towards some unknown murky promise that things will get better.

**Author's Note:**

> So? Was it worth the wait? Who here wants to fuck/be serviced by Sweet Pea in a shed by the quarry? Everyone? Okay then. If you enjoyed it please leave a comment ^-^ Oh and tumble with at lovedinapastlife


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